The morning sun was hazily making its way up above the Alps, through the clouds, and about the snow-capped mountain tops. Umberto was happily sat at the edge of the lake, one fishing pole in hand, and another, mounted, and tactically placed to his right. It had been a successful morning so far, Umberto guessed – by the sun’s current position of its morning commute up the mountains – that it was around half-eight, and he already had six pikes, angrily splashing around in his bucket. Four had come from the rod currently in his hands, and two from the one in the mount.
As he reeled and cast, the shadow draped across his face by the brim of his hat – decades old now, and well worn – increased its coverage as the sun began to reach its full potential in the early morning sky. Just as he cursed himself for letting a near bite get away, a truck drove past the opposite road. Umberto’s eyes were not what they used to be but he could just about make out the logo and colouring of the currently governing conservative party, campaigning for re-election.
Umberto did not involve himself in politics, not because he wasn’t political, but because he was old. In his youth, he was very active, but now, the future no longer belonged to him, so he ceded the act of controlling it to the next generations. During his college days, he was considered liberal, now, he was probably nearer the middle. Society moves on, so he left his voting power in the past, where his opinions belong.
One thing that did annoy Umberto was the ruling party’s rolling out the phrase, ‘Give a man fish, he’ll eat for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime,’ as justification against welfare. Umberto never understood the famous saying, as both a fisherman and, as a man. Why is there a choice? Surely we can do both? How can a man learn to fish when he is starving? Questions he would frequently ask himself, or to anyone who would listen, whenever the phrase was parroted out. Umberto had six fish to his name, and hopefully a couple more before the midday heat would cause him to retire. Two, he would keep, and have with his dinner this evening, the rest he would sell to the market at a low price. It was a simple life and one that worked for him.
The line snagged once again, and Umberto brought his concentration back to the rod, carefully reeling, not too hard, not too soft, as he brought another pike, number seven. He carefully unhooked the fish and put it in the bucket with the rest. Removing his hat, Umberto wiped his brow and squinted against the power of the summer sun, now peaking its head above the mountain tops. He laid the rod to one side, looked at the fish in the bucket, and, taking a drink of water from his canteen, considered packing up early for the day.